Michael Wood

The Murder House


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Chapter Forty

       Chapter Forty-One

       Chapter Forty-Two

       Chapter Forty-Three

       Chapter Forty-Four

       Chapter Forty-Five

       Chapter Forty-Six

       Chapter Forty-Seven

       Chapter Forty-Eight

       Chapter Forty-Nine

       Chapter Fifty

       Chapter Fifty-One

       Chapter Fifty-Two

       Chapter Fifty-Three

       Chapter Fifty-Four

       Chapter Fifty-Five

       Chapter Fifty-Six

       Chapter Fifty-Seven

       Chapter Fifty-Eight

       Chapter Fifty-Nine

       Chapter Sixty

       Chapter Sixty-One

       Chapter Sixty-Two

       Chapter Sixty-Three

       Chapter Sixty-Four

      Epilogue

      Keep Reading …

      Acknowledgements

      Also by Michael Wood

      About the Author

      About the Publisher

       Chapter One

      Monday, 15 January 2018

       02.30

      Jeremy Mercer couldn’t sleep. The room was spinning. He couldn’t remember the last time he had drunk so much. Still, it wasn’t a regular occurrence. A blow-out once in a while didn’t do any harm. Maybe he should have slowed down though. Looking back, he seemed to have had a glass of champagne in his hand since early evening until he staggered out of the marquee, into the house, and, somehow, managed to crawl upstairs.

      He felt sick. He closed his eyes but that seemed to make matters worse. He quickly opened them again and gave a little laugh. He was back in the bedroom he had grown up in, his mother and father asleep in the attic room upstairs.

      Jeremy had been sensible in front of his seven-year-old daughter, Rachel, but once she had gone to bed at eight o’clock, he’d let his hair down and allowed his father to continue pouring glass after glass of champagne down his throat.

      Today, or rather, yesterday, was a special occasion. His little sister, Leah, had got married. As the fug of alcohol distorted his memory, one image of the happy day stuck out more than others. Just before the ceremony, he had gone into his parents’ bedroom where Leah was getting ready and they’d had a chat.

      ‘Wow, you look stunning,’ he said. ‘You look so grown up.’

      ‘Thank you. I can’t stop smiling,’ she said. The floor-length gown was an off-white colour. It was a simple design, but the material was sheer and elegant. It may have sounded like a cliché, but she really did look like a princess. ‘How’s Oliver doing?’

      ‘He’s fine. His shoes are hurting his ankles.’

      The smile dropped. ‘I told him to put wet newspaper in them a few days before the wedding. Well, I don’t care if they cause blisters and he’s in agony for weeks, he’s leading me on that dancefloor.’

      Jeremy sat down on the bed. ‘Can you believe this?’

      ‘What?’

      ‘It doesn’t seem like five minutes ago you and I were in the back garden pushing each other off the swing. Now look at us; you’re getting married and I’ve got a seven-year-old daughter, a mortgage and debts up to my eyeballs.’

      ‘It’s fun being a grown-up, isn’t it?’ she said with a twinkle in her eye.

      Jeremy felt a tug of emotion. ‘I hope you and Oliver will be very happy together,’ he said, a catch in his throat.

      ‘Don’t make me cry, Jeremy. I don’t want to ruin my make-up.’

      ‘Sorry. I was just thinking of …’

      ‘I know. Today can’t be easy for you.’

      ‘It’s not. But, today isn’t about me. It’s about you.’

      ‘I’m not looking forward to everyone looking at me in church.’

      ‘Have you taken your medication?’

      ‘You’ve asked me that three times already,’ she said.

      ‘Sorry. I just want your day to be perfect.’

      ‘And me off my medication would ruin it?’

      ‘Shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean—’

      Leah giggled. ‘It’s all right, Jeremy, I know what you meant. Don’t worry. I’m fine. I feel fine.’ She turned to the mirror and looked at her reflection. ‘Well, time I made a move.’

      Jeremy stood up, held his sister by the shoulders and looked deep into her eyes. ‘I love you, Leah.’ He kissed her on the cheek.

      ‘I love you too, Jeremy. I couldn’t ask for a better brother.’

      ‘One day, I might give you your Barbie doll heads back.’

      ‘Then you really will be the best brother ever.’

      There was a knock on the bedroom door. It was time to go.

      Jeremy pushed back the duvet and staggered out of bed. He needed a drink of water. Or maybe he needed to vomit, he didn’t know which.

      Wearing only a